


Recollections

by Devientity



Category: The Inheritance Cycle - Christopher Paolini
Genre: Depression, Friendship, Gen, Minor Violence, Post-Canon, Redemption, Soul-Searching
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2018-09-25 02:56:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9799694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devientity/pseuds/Devientity
Summary: Series of one shots taking place during and post Inheritance detailing events that Murtagh and Thorn experience





	1. Needed Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> "The darkness is there and he hates it, he fears it and drowns in its all-consuming despair...but what some don't understand, is that he needs it. What some don't understand is that he needs it to feel human."
> 
> Set after Murtagh and Thorn's return to Uru'baen in 'Eldest'.
> 
> * Disclaimer - I do not own the Inheritance Cycle nor it's characters and only wish to play in it's sandbox.

_"You cannot help me, Eragon. No one but Galbatorix can release us from our oaths, and he will never do that…He knows our true names, Eragon…We are his slaves forever."_

The night was always a constant...and the path his thoughts generally took was no different. Without battle, training, torture or his beloved Heart to distract him, the memories surfaced with bitter vengeance, as if furious by the fact that he dared to quell them.

_Forever…_

That one simple word resonated strangely within Murtagh, making his insides squirm with pure anxiety and a concentrated revulsion.

It described his deep, dark self-loathing perfectly; a feeling that permeated every cell and fiber of his being, tainting his core and pulsating within him constantly, almost as if it were a second heartbeat. It shadowed his every waking moment and haunted his restless nights, giving no moment of peace, no absolution and certainly no hope for his future.

Forever...

It was a cold word. Final. Deserved?

Murtagh felt his lips curl slightly in a mirthless half-smile. Thorn would be unbearable if he could read the current track of his rider's morbid thoughts. Luckily (or not?), it would depend on how you viewed depression), the red dragon was out on a much-needed hunt. Therefore, for the moment, Murtagh's judgment, feelings, doubts and deepest pits of self-hate, were his and his alone...Until Thorn returned and tried to eat him or worse, suffocate Murtagh with his relentless sense of hope and unadulterated love.

Not that it was a bad thing...Murtagh thought. He was unable to hate Thorn's constant care and understanding. Even when it became irritating, he simply could not feel anything other than resigned, unwavering affection.

Thorn was his light and love. His forbidden hold that hope was not lost...and there was no way he would ever give that up.

...but he needed this despair. He needed this darkness, this abyss that lingered in the corner of his mind, reminding him of sin and shadow and the burning fires of hell that existed in the world if you just took a moment to acknowledge them.

Murtagh needed the hate...because it proved to him that he was human. It showed he was not a saint and that his bad deeds were his alone to overcome. By acknowledging those foul acts, he accepted he was wrong and in his own way, someday, he would seek repentance for all that he thought deserved remorse.

That hate also kept him tethered to the fact that life was cruel. Life was unforgiving. The world did not owe you a thing, so if he wanted something, he knew he would have to strive for it himself…and that was just the way Murtagh wanted it to be.

He had learned a long time ago to accept what he was given, bad or good, it made no difference. The difference came with how you dealt, how you got through and moved forward despite the difficulties…and even though it hurt, even though it tore him apart, Murtagh had accepted this as a part of his world.

Unwanted, but there anyway. Unavoidable. Natural?

_"…Join me, Murtagh. You could do so much for the Varden. With us, you would be praised and admired, instead of cursed, feared and hated."_

Eragon's words contained the youthful naivety that his younger brother still had, though now it was just a little tarnished by war and death and reality. Murtagh appreciated that Eragon still cared enough to try, still cared enough to think a simple changing of sides would solve all the problems…but the younger rider just did not understand.

Murtagh no longer had salvation (especially after Hrothgars murder) and if he did, it would be something he gained on his own and for Thorn, not for the sake of the Varden.

Until then, he could live with his darkness even though it hurt. He could deal with the haunting terrors and echoing cries, because it was necessary and needed. It was his humanity at its most raw and uncontained, a dark part of his soul that burned with the knowledge that one day, one day all would be right despite the struggle he went through to get there.

When that day came, forever would not matter anymore. The darkness would find a purpose, no longer a need, and Murtagh would be free to choose a path that held no nightmares or shadows.

He would simply be Murtagh, and he would have Thorn and that is all that mattered.


	2. Freedom's Price

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oromis dies and Murtagh is troubled

_...Each time we die, we must learn to live again despite the pain we feel in moving forward..._

Murtagh stood upon a hill far away from the battlefield, not quite ready to return to the Empire after what he had been forced to do by Galbatorix.

The young warriors face remained impassive while his inner thoughts raged about like a fiery inferno of inexplicable hatred and self-loathing. Thorn stood not even three feet behind him, his thought pattern similar and just as chaotic.

An image of the ancient elf and magnificent golden dragon flashed collectively through their joint minds and Murtagh closed his eyes, sighing heavily.

There had been another, another Rider...after all this time.

Murtagh's black-clad hands clenched unconsciously in to fists. So many emotions had filtered through him when he first caught sight of the pair...

Feelings of fear, rage and sadness, coupled with a fractional glimmer of hope and a deep yearning for freedom from his enslavement. Murtagh remembered his angered words and the utter despair he had felt while fighting against the Rider who was not meant to exist.

..And he had killed them…No, Galbatorix had killed them. …but he had used Murtagh's hand to do it.

They were dead and it was all because of him. All because Galbatorix owned him.

His steel-colored eyes opened and he frowned. It was another bitter reminder that his mind was no longer his haven.

_"My mind is the only sanctuary that has not been stolen from me."He remembered saying once."Men have tried to breach it before, but I've learned to defend it vigorously, for I am only safe with my innermost thoughts."_

Why did things turn out this way? Why, after everything he had been through in life, had it ended up like this?

There was a time when he had still been his own person and not a pawn of the King. When his thoughts and beliefs had been his own.

_"I do not belong to either the Varden or the Empire. Nor do I owe allegiance to any man but myself."_

But that was no longer true, he reflected, as an assault of memories flooded his senses.

_"He knows our true names, Eragon... We are his slaves forever."_

Imprisoned by the man he had sought to escape. The man who had killed Tornac.

_"You cannot hope to compete with me. No one can, except for Galbatorix."_

Yet he had loved the power Galbatorix had given him. How he relished the feeling of being able to strike back at a world that had shown him little kindness.

But still...

_"I am not evil! I've done the best I could under the circumstances. I doubt you would have survived as well as I did ..."_

Murtagh watched the sun begin to sink beyond the horizon, it's last rays of light shone like fire in the distance. He turned to face his partner, the wounds of their previous battle apparent yet healed and only serving as a painful reminder of what he had done.

Though conflicted by his thoughts, the clash between what he had been and what he had become, Murtagh knew without a doubt that he did not regret Thorn hatching for him...If given the choice, he would have preferred the circumstances to be different, but he knew from experience that life didn't usually go the way you wanted it to. However, despite whatever he may know, Murtagh still felt an intense loathing for letting this happen to Thorn who never had a choice...Never known true freedom. The freedom he deserved.

_'I have seen and breathed war Thorn. I have lived through its despair.'_ He whispered in his mind to his partner and sole remaining link to sanity and light. _'I have seen blood running from the dying and seen the dead lying on the ground, never to move again or know even the simplest joys that life has to offer. I have seen cities destroyed and have been a key in helping it to happen. I have watched children suffer as I once suffered. I have been broken and stripped of all my ideals, letting myself become a servant-no a slave of the Empire. I have hurt the only people who have ever shown me kindness. I have witnessed the agony we cause...And I hate it. I hate what I have become and I hate what I've made you become because of me.'_

Thorn said nothing, but let his mind envelope that of his Rider, letting the young man know that he wouldn't have it any other way...He would share this burden and this pain, not because their bond didn't give them much say in the matter, but because they were destined to be together...Destined to be one.

Thorn did not blame Murtagh for who they served and he certainly did not blame him for all that had occurred. He had seen who Murtagh truly was despite the oaths they had sworn to the King. He had seen the memories of his Rider's childhood that had been less than perfect, and he had seen when Murtagh had defended Farthern Dur from the armies that sought to destroy and burn all within their path. He had seen Murtagh's torture by the Twins and then Galbatorix, and felt his regret to fight those he cared for. He had seen the pain and the longing to be free of all he hated...They were bonded and Thorn would not wish it any other way.

Murtagh smiled slightly at Thorn's thoughts and feelings, and felt immensely grateful that they at least had each other through all of this.

"Maybe, one day we will be free..." He murmured quietly and Thorn answered with a low rumble. _'_

_Nothing is set in stone, my dear friend.'_

"No...It isn't." Murtagh said aloud.

Thorn was right.

Things could change in an instant no matter what the circumstances. They were the right hand of Galbatorix, but that did not mean there was not hope...After all, Eragon had told them something useful. They could change who they were...But it would take time and even though Murtagh would certainly try, he feared that time was something he did not have.

He feared the war…would be his end.


	3. Tainted Reckoning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murtagh returns to Uru'baen, feeling dirty and tainted. His reflections do not help but Thorn is there to make a difference.

After his thoughts had calmed enough for him to push aside the looming depression, Murtagh healed Thorn to the best of his ability (utterly disgusted at the fact that he had let his heart and soul suffer so long while he wallowed in his own self-pity), then mounted the gleaming red dragon.

Thorn continued to prove his selflessness by mentally assuring his rider that he understood and in no way thought any less of him for giving into grief. It took a little while, but soon both rider and dragon reached a compromise within their thoughts.

Together, they began the weary flight back to Uru'baen, cautious and dreading what may lay in wait for them.

The scene they found left both rider and dragon mortified. Seated in his throne room, Galbatorix celebrated the death of the golden dragon and his Elven partner, revered in the feeling of taking their life force and his only hint of regret was that Glaedr's heart of hearts had been lost.

 _A terrible loss…_ Was the Kings mournful thought, though the sorrow did not last long as he finally grew aware of his Rider's return.

_Ah, welcome back…What a victorious day it has been._

Murtagh's face was blank of all expression but his inner emotions raged helplessly.

_How could he be so unconcerned? How could he not feel anything over the heartache he caused?_

"Leave me." The King ordered and Murtagh, after a moment of being stunned at the dismissal (for it was a rare occurrence), turned and left, seeking sanctuary in his tower far from the mad man that had bound him to his will.

_Maybe Galbatorix knew what his possession had done to the stoic warrior._

Murtagh snorted.

_There was no maybe about it. That monster knew intimately about every action he performed._

Thorn's mental voice brushed over his mind, offering a comfort that was familiar and welcome, even though Murtagh felt like he did not deserve it. Regardless of his own self-loathing, the dark-haired young man embraced the offered warmth as he threw himself onto his bed, fully aware that his clothes were still soiled from the recent battle.

He just could not bring himself to care much in that moment.

He was cold and numb from the aftermath of his angered and bitter emotions. He was alone, in the sense that aside from Thorn (who hummed in agreement); no one else understood what he went through. He wanted to scream and curse, but knew it would do little to change what had occurred…What would occur.

He lifted one hand to gaze at it with steely grey eyes, seeing something beyond the black leather that covered his pale skin.

He shut his eyes and curled up in the bed, wrapping his arms around his now trembling frame. He felt empty…Tainted.

_Blood, thick and red…So much that it made him nauseous, so much and it was not going away. Great golden eyes filled with pain and such sorrow that Murtagh wished he could take it away._

_Eragon's pleas to leave the king, to reconsider taking Galbatorix's side…but he did not understand that Murtagh had no choice. The fool made it sound like leaving would be as simple as merely making the decision._

… _and yet, maybe Eragon was right in a way. If he had only been strong enough, more determined to keep Galbatorix from taking over…Then maybe this would not have happened._

_Murtagh would not be a Kingkiller. He would not be a dragon slayer and traitor to his kind. His little brother would not hate him…He would not be a puppet to a mad man with warped dreams of a better world. Thorn would not be enslaved because of his riders own weakness!_

' _Stop it!'_ Thorn snapped, interrupting all further thoughts of what could have been and what he would prefer over this constant nightmare.

' _We cannot change what has passed.'_ The red dragon continued, anger and fierceness coloring his tone. _'We cannot change the path fate has constructed for us…and I would not seek to change it.'_

Murtagh felt the tears but they did not fall.

' _It is a hard road, and it's certainly not fair…but it is what we have been given and we will be stronger for our struggles.'_ Thorn murmured, his tone becoming gentler. ' _There is much I would change, but I would not give up what we have…You are mine as I am yours, and nothing will come between that…just as we will be free one day That much I know for certain.'_

Murtagh could not help but laugh. It was strained and somewhat hysterical, but he could not help it.

' _I wish I had your optimism…or would that be better described as a fool's hope?'_

' _Then I am a fool."_ Thorn answered simply.

"Then we are both fools, my friend." Murtagh said aloud, sighing and rubbing his eyes wearily.

_A fool with a tainted soul-_

' _A brave fool, who soul is hurt…Never tainted.'_ Thorn corrected _._

The tears came once more and this time Murtagh did not stop them. He cried for Thorn. He cried for the golden dragon and his fallen rider. He cried for Eragon. He cried for the world and how it was going to know more suffering before things went the right way…and he cried for himself.

The bitter part of him would always see the taint, for self-loathing was an addiction that was hard to shake, but if Thorn could look past it, then so could Murtagh.

…or at least, he could try. 


	4. Remorse and Sin

Sin; an immoral act considered to be a transgression against divine law...or at least, that is what they taught you when younger.

Nowadays, sin was relative to Murtagh and sometimes he couldn't quite see where to draw the line anymore.

Weapons and war. Death and destruction...they had always been a major part of Murtagh's life. He had grown up in an era of discord, where despair flourished and chaos reigned in the form of oppression, fear and strategic violence. He had been the son of a tyrant, the last Forsworn and left hand to the King while his mother had been the Black Hand...and then, after their deaths, he had been raised in the palace at Uru'baen with the dark ruler watching over his every move.

Murtagh knew darkness. He knew it and it knew him.

He knew death as well.

At the age of six, he had witnessed his first when Morzan beheaded a servant who had unfortunately been in the wrong place (and definitely at the wrong time), catching the dragon rider in one of his drunken rages (a frequent occurrence that the child had also been victim of when his father's sword had met the flesh of his back). After that first one, he'd witnessed countless others, the causes and reasons for their occurrence so vast that he could barely remember most.

Then, when he became a rider, the deaths only increased.

So, Murtagh was no stranger to death, no stranger to the sight of blood and the feel of a blade in his hands...and certainly not a stranger to sin.

It was a constant and he drew comfort from it even though it was like a stain on his soul.

In battle, he would watch his magic burn, rip and tear through the masses of the Varden, knowing no discrimination as he massacred human, elf and dwarf if they dared cross his path.

He saw his blade (coupled with Thorn's teeth, claws and tail) maim, slice and stab through metal, leather and soft flesh, warm blood showering them in its crimson spray and the dying shrieks filling the air all around.

Before and during battle, he could feel nothing, regret nothing and perform every kill with the efficiency expected of him...

It was sin and it was normal.

...but after, when the death was done and the fight had ended, he could suffer through his nightmares and feel the unending remorse. He could cry and scream and not care that Galbatorix tortured him for being too soft, even though his blade had met hundreds that very day ad taken twice as many souls.

Remorse was regret and guilt for the sin you committed.

...and he felt it, Murtagh could never deny that he felt it all the time. He was a contradiction, causing sin each new day and yet feeling sorry because of it, only to perform a new evil the very next day...

Remorse and sin; It was anguish, like gnawing pain, excited by a sense of guilt; compunction of conscience for a crime committed.

It was tainted light for his soul and it was everything he knew.

**Author's Note:**

> A collection of one shots based on how I would interpret events to happen during canon and after.  
> I have been a bit stuck when it comes to my ideas so I am hoping posting here will give me some fresh perspective.


End file.
